Curiosity: Part I
by la-rubinita
Summary: Can Draco convince Ginny to get what she wants? Rated M for a reason, guys. Sexual situations, mentions of violence, mild language. Please don't read if you're not of proper age.


**A/N: I am not JKR, and the characters aren't mine. A thousand thanks to princesswendy. Without her help this would have remained unfinished on my computer for all eternity. This is my frist one-shot, so please review! I hope you enjoy the product of a deathly vicious plot bunny...**

**Curiosity: Part I **

The room is dark except for a sickly green glow shining in through the French doors that lead out onto a balcony. I'm in a study of some sort, but I'm not sure. It's not my house.

I only cast the Dark Mark minutes ago, but already I hear four distinct _cracks_ of Apparition outside. It doesn't take the good guys long to arrive, but they never make it in time. They are helpless to halt the ever climbing death toll.

A smug smile tugs at my lips at with that thought. How many had I added to that total? I stopped keeping track long ago. Every single one of them was the same worthless piece of filth, why dignify them with their own personal number?

I slink back into the shadows just where the door would open, concealing my presence from anyone who would enter. Not that I am hiding. No, I am proud of my work here tonight, even if it's not the real reason I came. I came here looking for some entertainment, looking for her, and what better way is there to accomplish that than to brutally murder a house full of disgusting Muggles?

I can hear two separate sets of footsteps on the stairs; one so light I almost don't hear it on the plush carpet that covers the ground, the other loud and clumsy even in their efforts to remain undetected. I've been at this long enough to know how Aurors operate: two up, two down. Clear the premises as quickly as possible so that the Ministry can begin its damage control. So predictable.

I smirk when I hear the loud one bust in the door at the other end of the long hallway. I know what's on the other side of that door. I hadn't just murdered the five Muggles in the room. I'd stood there and watched them bleed to death one by one. I had gazed upon their leaking bodies in stone-faced ecstasy as the power of ending another's life rushed through me like a bolt of lightning. It's intoxicating. If you've never tried it, I suggest you give it a go.

"Mother fucker!" I hear a familiar voice cursing even through the closed door. "Bloody hell!" I always said Ronald Weasley would make a dreadful Auror. I was right. He has no restraint.

Again, I can just barely discern the feather soft footfalls of the other Wizard-hunter as they join their partner in the charnel house that is the master bedroom. I can't hear their reaction, but a few moments later I hear Weasley head back down the stairs followed by the sound of the other doors on the hallway being opened and closed one by one.

I hold my breath in anticipation as the door next to my shoulder begins to open. They take a few cautious steps into the room, and even in the sick half-light I recognize the figure; I've been waiting for her. The door opens the rest of the way obscuring her from view, but keeping her ignorant of my presence at the same time. Until I slam the door shut.

She whirls about, hair flying, and aims her wand at the shadow she knows I'm hiding in. I can practically hear her heart beating from here. She's frightened, and I revel in the control I have for a moment longer before revealing myself.

"My, my, aren't we jumpy?" I drawl as I step out of the shadows. It never ceases to amaze me how much I sound like my father now. He'd be proud, if I hadn't killed him, that is.

I have my wand raised, but more for effect than for protection. I know she won't do anything. She might be a trained Auror, but I am still me, and I know her better than she imagines. I know that her Gryffindor pride will stop her calling to her compatriots for aid. I know that she has to know the answer to everything, and she won't leave until she gets them. Already I can see them forming in her brain.

She scowls, not a flattering expression in the light of the Dark Mark floating just outside. "I should have known this was your handiwork. It has your name written all over it." She's not even bothering to mask the disgust in her voice. "You're worse than your father."

I imagine that last bit was supposed to insult me. About ninety-nine percent of the wizarding world would draw wands on the fool who compared them to my father. I couldn't care less, really.

I remain silent, letting her squirm in the pounding absence of sound. As I step towards her, I can't help but notice her glance at the door. She's wishing Weasley was here with her, but she holds her ground.

"Is that the best you can do, Weasley? I think spending so much time with your brother has dulled your wits."

"Why are you still here, Malfoy?" she demands. "One day, you won't be able to slip away. You know the Ministry isn't bothering to imprison Death Eaters anymore. They've taken to simply executing anyone with the Dark Mark, no questions asked. Got a death wish, have we?"

"If I ran away every time I murdered someone, I'd never get to participate in heated exchanges with my favorite Auror."

I'm close now, so close I can smell her. Flowers. And fear. Her body tenses, but whether it's from my proximity or my words I do not know.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

She knows exactly what I meant; she just doesn't want to accept it. Always the Gryffindor, noble and courageous to a fault.

"What?" I say as I begin circling her like a hawk. "Does it bother you that I kill just for a little quality time with you?"

"Don't you dare try and pin your actions on me, Malfoy."

She's trying to sound irritated, but it doesn't quite conceal the guilt. She knows the reality of the situation. Five weeks, five gruesome murders (well, nineteen, if we're counting bodies), five secret rendezvous. She knew she'd find me waiting for her in this room; that's why she sent Weasel to take care of the bodies. She was looking for me. It is a complicated relationship.

"Not my actions, only my motivations. You know I take pride in my work. Besides, do you mean to tell me that you don't look forward to our tête-à-têtes?"

"About as much as I enjoy having my teeth pulled," she snaps defensively.

"Then why are you here?" I whisper in her ear as I slow to a stop behind her. My hot breath on her delicate shell causes a shiver to chase up her spine. I have to resist the urge to run my tongue along the edge; now is not the time.

"I came to stop you," she says, somewhat less than convincingly.

"You're a clever witch; if you'd wanted me caught, I'd be dead right now. You captured Nott…and Zabini. I hear Zabini gave you quite the run for your money."

"Nott was an arrogant idiot," she says derisively. "And Hermione caught Zabini, not me."

She can't see my face, but by her reaction I can tell she hears the smirk in my voice. "Ah, Granger. How is the resident know-it-all these days? It's been so long since I've had the pleasure."

"You didn't kill her, if that's what you mean," she says whipping around to face me. Her face is contorted by her famous Weasley fury. In an instant she has her wand to my throat.

I can't help it. I begin to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation (Yes, Malfoys chuckle, but only in the darkest of circumstances.). Even in the night I can tell; ten years ago I would have had Bat Bogeys assaulting my face by now. But this isn't ten years ago.

"Put that away, Weasley. We both know you won't do anything." I don't even raise my own wand.

"What makes you so sure, _Malfoy?_ I'd kill you myself for what you did to Hermione, but I wouldn't want to lower myself to your standards." She steps closer, close enough for me to hear her whisper, but her wand remains trained on my jugular. "No, I want to watch you take that long walk towards the veil.

"If you ask my opinion," she continues, still whispering, "I think it's far too humane for cold-blooded murderers such as yourself. If it were up to me, you would have to suffer as much as your victims, not take a painless jump into non-existence."

She has a sadistic streak about a mile wide that only I know about. If Sorting Hat had known, it would have put her in Slytherin despite her noble intentions and courageous heart and blah, blah, blah. It drives me wild, and I almost tell her so, but it's not the time, not yet.

As she finishes her sentence, she drags her finger lightly along my jaw, pausing for just a moment on my lips. I'm tempted to suck that finger into my mouth and taste her sweet flesh, but she removes the opportunity before I seize it. She smiles mirthlessly, still staring at my lips. It's possible she had been thinking the same thing as I had been.

"So," she says, fixing her brown eyes on my own, "why exactly is it that I'm not going to end this tonight?"

"Curiosity."

She quirks an eyebrow in challenge, but I see her swallowing the lump in her throat. "And what is it that I'm so curious about?"

"Me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I'm with Harry."

I lean in, not paying any heed to the wand jabbing into the side of my neck. "But that's why you're curious."

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly and she hastily steps back from me, self-consciously noticing how close she was. "You don't know what you're talking about. I love Harry. I have since I was a little girl."

"That's touching, really, but I'm not talking about love. I'm talking about pure, unadulterated lust. I'm talking about the reason you keep searching me out, the reason you came here tonight, and the reason we're still standing here having this conversation. You're only stalling the inevitable."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she repeats in an attempt to convince herself more than me. I know the truth. She knows the truth. We've been beating around the bush for weeks now. Normally I wouldn't wait weeks for anything, but the thought of having something that is so completely Potter's come to me willingly is all the motivation I need to behave myself.

"I know you get tired of doing the right thing all the time. What a tedious existence. And I bet Potter's a strictly missionary sort of shag, isn't he?"

She's blushing so deeply I can see it even in the green half light. I take advantage of her loss for words and close the gap between us once more. Her wand is lowered now, though I don't think she did it consciously. She might be fascinated by me, but there is still no trust. And that's as it should be.

She gasps when our bodies finally touch, however clothed they might be. I look down at her, keeping my face purposefully unreadable. Her face, however, is an open book. Fear, disgust, anxiety, distrust, confusion, curiosity, disbelief, excitement, and even a small measure of lust are mirrored in her eyes. Oh yes, that was definitely lust.

"I know you have a dark side, Weasley. You and all your little friends might be blind to it, but I see it crystal clear. You thrive on pain, inflicting it, receiving it, even looking at the aftermath brings you satisfaction. Honestly, what was your initial reaction when you saw Granger lying on her bedroom floor, claret soaking into the carpet?"

Her mouth works without sound for a moment before she finds her tongue. "Hermione is my friend, how could-"

"Cut the bull-shit," I snap, cutting her off. Her denial is becoming most uninteresting. "You don't need to pretend with me. It turned you on didn't it? Did you go home a fuck Potter senseless afterwards?"

"You're cracked, Malfoy," she says, her voice ringing with unsteady bravado. I've hit a little too close to home, it seems. She tries to back away, but I grab her shoulders, holding her in place. I'm still looking into her eyes which are darting continuously back and forth between my own and my mouth. A smug smiles tugs at the corner of my lips; she's almost mine.

As I lean my head down, she tilts her chin up ever so slightly. I pause just as my lips brush against hers. I can hear her breathing, short, nervous gasps. Her breath is sweet, making my desire to taste her all the more unbearable.

"Let me liberate you," I whisper against her mouth. The feather light contact sends the blood rushing straight to my groin. Now, I wait. I've made the first move, it's her turn now. I don't have to wait long.

After a nanosecond of deliberation, she crashes her lips onto mine, wrapping both of her hands around my head and running her fingers through my hair. Her tongue enters my mouth without permission, pushing her self tighter to me.

She is in control and that's fine – for now. She is defying me and I like it. I like it when she lets the mask drop and starts acting real, like I know her. I take the lead anyways. Grabbing her waist, I toss her back against the door, hard. My tongue beats hers into submission as my hand moves up her thigh, groping her arse, leaving a bruise, a mark.

She moans and all of the blood seems to leave my head, going straight to my groin where my pants are starting to get uncomfortable. I let her know, pushing it roughly against her other thigh, another bruise to remember me.

I wrap the leg I was groping around my hips. Her surprise does not go unnoticed, even though it only lasted a heartbeat. That makes me harder in spite of myself.

Leaving her mouth, ignoring her moan in protest, I start biting her neck, sucking, licking. I know her more than I know myself. I know the places that make her squirm, places that Potter couldn't find if they slapped him the face.

I snake my free hand up her skirt and tear her knickers away with one firm tug. She gasps, but I recapture her mouth, swallowing her protestations. Even if she had been able to, it did not erase the fact that she was aroused. I can smell her and it's driving me mad with want.

Without warning, I plunge two fingers deep inside. She's hot and slick and ready, and I want to fuck her right through the door, but I can be patient a while longer. I swipe my thumb across her nub. She gasps again, her lungs failing her momentarily, and arches her back, grinding into me.

"Sweet Merlin," she breathes. "Do that again."

I oblige. I like to see her begging for my touch as I tease her. It is one of my greatest satisfactions.

She somehow managed to keep her wand, and with a flick I hear the door lock and feel my pants fall to my ankles. My robes disappeared; I'll find them later. I smirk knowingly. She is desperate, but I want her to beg, to moan my name.

My cock, however, has different plans, and it is only with an iron will that I keep control of my self. She kisses me, desperately, and grinds her hips into me again, but I don't give in. I focus all of my concentration on remaining perfectly still; she hasn't begged me yet.

With a groan of frustration she breaks off the kiss and looks into my eyes. Hers are flashing dangerously with lust and anger. Delicious. She pushes me back, hard and I stumble back a step or two. My pants are completely off my ankles.

She lowers her skirt indignantly, though I don't know why. There is nothing I will not have my way with down there.

Fuck you, Malfoy," she says. "What did you do with my knickers?"

"Leaving so soon, are we?"

She does not answer; she knows she's not going anywhere. Instead she pretends like she's looking for her knickers, although I can't imagine what good they'll be, seeing as they're torn in half.

"You're not leaving," I say with complete confidence.

She stops and shoots me a glare that would melt steel. "I wouldn't sound so sure of myself if I was you."

"Or what," I taunt, walking towards her. She _will _beg me for it before this night is through.

This time she simply doesn't have an answer.

She watches, unable to conceal her lust, as I slowly unbutton my shirt.

I'm completely naked now, and I can tell it's taking every ounce of self-restraint for her not to jump me. Instead she smacks me sharply across the face. A tiny rivulet of blood leaks from the corner of my mouth where my teeth collided with my lip.

"Was that supposed to hurt?"

She reaches out to smack me again, but I catch her hand and twist downward, forcing her body against mine.

She's still glaring at me, but does not shrink away when I lean my head down and whisper in her ear.

"Beg me for it."

I lick the shell of her ear with my tongue causing a shiver to chase up her spine. "You know he can't give you what you want - what you need." She still does not answer, but I am not about to give up. "Only I can."

Something flashes in her eyes, something primal. I think she has finally caught on. She smirks, something she definitely picked up from me, yet so much more attractive on her face. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight, mimicking a much larger part of my body.

Twisting her wrist out of my grasp she slowly removes her jumper, which is followed shortly by her blouse. Dexterously, she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, sliding it gracefully off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Her skirt is quickly discarded as well.

Beautiful is not a word that is generally a part of my vocabulary, but there is not really another word to describe her, standing before me in all her glory. I am seeing her as she is meant to be, as I have longed to see her. She was made for me.

My cock jumps to attention; she has my full attention and she knows it. She's trying to turn the tables on me. She's learning how to play my game.

"Why should I beg, when you are so obviously ready?" I cannot help the small gasp that escapes as she lightly runs a slender finger up my length. "Why should I ask for what you want to give me?" she whispers in my ear. Her sweet breath causes my skin to tingle.

"Because you won't get it otherwise," I manage to choke out with the small amount of dignity I have left. Her hand is driving me insane. I forgot that she knows me as well.

She raises an eyebrow in challenge and wraps her hand around the base of my shaft and squeezes. "Is that so?" she says. I grunt, unable to form a more articulate thought.

I can't take it anymore. I _need_ to touch her. To feel her. To make her truly mine. To make her see that what Potter does to her is like a peck on the cheek from me.

I follow my instincts. There is a leather armchair behind me; I plan on putting it to good use. Taking her by surprise, I grab her by the waist and throw her into the chair where she lands with an i _uff /i _. Before she can protest, I am upon her, kissing her passionately, driving the air from her lungs and any thoughts from her head. Slowly I make my way down her body, licking, nibbling, sucking as I go.

She moans as I give each erect nipple a flick with my tongue. I look up at her as I continue giving her breasts their due attention. She has her eyes squeezed shut and is biting her lip, willing her mouth not to open and say what I want to hear.

I move lower. "Beg me," I whisper, blowing hot breath on her mound. "Say how much you want me."

She shakes her head, but remains silent. I dart my tongue out, just caressing her sensitive bundle of nerves. The heady scent of her arousal is overwhelming.

She cries out in pleasure; I'm wearing her down. She's breathing heavily and gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles.

I ask her again, this time running the width of my tongue slowly amongst her folds. Her legs are quivering; she's barely holding on.

She's close to her peak, to ecstasy, but I won't let her have it. Not like this. Not before accepting that she's mine.

"Beg me."

Finally she gives in, desperately. My insides knot up as her words of pleading leave her mouth. "Dear sweet Merlin, fuck me now or kill me."

"What's the magic word?"

"Draco," she growls.

That's all the encouragement I need. I grab her hips and slide her down the seat of the chair and onto my lap. With agonizing, torturous care I slowly sheath my self to the hilt in her tight hot wetness. She groans and throws her head back wantonly, making it that much more erotic.

Digging my fingers into her flesh, I lift her up, almost completely removing myself from inside her before slamming her back down again. I thrust upward meeting her half way. She's making the most delightful noises I've ever heard. If she keeps it up, I won't last long.

I silence her with a bruising kiss, focusing on finding a rhythm. It doesn't take us long. It's like our bodies have been waiting for this our entire lives. The divine friction of our union is burning me from the inside out. I want to watch as I drive into her over and over, but the sight would push me over the edge, which I cannot allow to happen. I want to make this a night she will never forget.

She's close; I can feel her beginning to contract around me. I break off the kiss. I want to see her when she comes. Roughly, I pinch a nipple between my thumb and forefinger. The pain pushes her over.

Her orgasm is exquisite. The sight of her, let alone the sensation almost ends it for me right then. Her entire body is spasming in climax. I slow down in time with her orgasm, letting her ride it out.

Finally she collapses onto my shoulder, panting. Her hair tickles across my chest. Sex and flowers fill my nostrils.

"Draco," she whispers into my neck. The sound of my name tumbling from her lips is perhaps the most perfect thing I have ever heard. Running my hands through her hair, I tilt her head back and kiss her deeply, soundly with less need and more want.

Smoothly, I lower her to the ground, never breaking contact. We slip back into rhythm with ease, as though we have done this a hundred times. Firm and sure, slowly at first, our momentum increases with our arousal. She has her legs hooked around mine rolling her hips with each thrust, raking her nails down my back.

I am close; she is close. When her release hits her, she clamps down, her velvet muscles tearing my orgasm from my body. Together we crescendo. She sinks her teeth into the flesh of my shoulder to stifle her cry of pleasure, breaking skin, drawing blood.

As the last wave of pleasure subsides, she collapses beneath me. My arms are barely supporting my weight.

"Ginny," I breath into her ear. She kisses her mark, her brand, and I roll off.

There is someone coming up the stairs. Three someones, if I am hearing properly. "Who else is here besides your brother?" I ask as I stand up.

Ginny follows suit. Her legs are a bit unsteady and she wobbles. "Harry and Tonks," she answers without the slightest trace of embarrassment in her voice.

She is mine.

I am hers.

"They're looking for me. You should go."

We locate our wands which had been discarded as randomly as our clothing. The three Aurors are arguing outside the door as to whether or not Ginny is upstairs. Not the cleverest bunch, these Aurors. Ginny rolls her eyes.

With a flick of my wand, I magic our clothes onto our bodies. One of them is trying to open the door.

"This door is locked!" Weasley shouts from the other side. "Ginny!"

Quickly, Ginny grabs me by the front of my robes and plants a searing kiss on my mouth. I can't help but smile, not because I am particularly prone to romantic goodbye gestures, but because I have her, completely, and Potter doesn't. She knows this, but it does not seem to bother her.

"Stun me and get the hell out of here," she says against my mouth. She steps back preparing for the spell.

" _Stupefy,_" The spell hits her in the chest and she flies backward, slamming against the door. I turn and walk onto the balcony, hiding behind the wall. I want to hear her lie to them.

"_Alohomora_!" Potter shouted.

Six feet clambered into the room. I hear Ginny groan, cursing me under her breath.

"Ginny, are you alright? Who did this?" Potter asked.

"It was Malfoy, and I was fine until you lot showed up."

"You should have been with one of us. There could have been a whole room full of Death Eaters waiting."

"I'm a big girl, Harry. I can take care of myself. I don't need you – or anyone- to baby-sit me," she said with a steely edge in her voice. "And Malfoy always works alone, you know that." If Potter knew what was good for him, he'd drop it. But since when does Potter drop anything?

"He still got the better of you," Potter pointed out.

"Harry's right, Ginny, you need to be more careful."

"Shut up Ron. I had everything under control until you started yelling and whatnot. Are you a bloody Auror, or aren't you?"

"At least he didn't kill you," Tonks piped up. "You guys need to cut her some slack. She went through the exact same training you did, remember?"

"Thank you, Tonks. Can we go now? I always feel like I need a shower after cleaning up after Malfoy."

"We should go," said Tonks. "The Ministry can handle it from here. See you guys bright and early." She Disapparated directly from the room.

Potter mumbled something about going to the office and filing the paperwork; Ginny did not object. Weasley offered to go with him.

"Goodnight, Ginny. Don't wait up for me."

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," her brother said. Two cracks signaled their departure.

I hear her soft footfalls head in my direction. She pokes her head out onto the balcony, and smiles when she sees me. It is not a reaction I am accustomed to, but I could get used to it from her. She comes to me and lays a soft kiss on my lips.

"You're mine," I say.

"And you're mine." She pauses. "What happens now?"

I smile, a real smile, the first one in ages. "You'll know when the time comes, don't worry." I kiss her again.

With a _crack _I'm gone.


End file.
